


The Westchester County Community College Course Guide: Erik Lehnsherr Edition

by until_the_earth_is_free



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Canon Jewish Character, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Drug Addiction, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Erik, Pining, Poor Charles, Protective Erik, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Trans Character, Trans Charles Xavier, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/until_the_earth_is_free/pseuds/until_the_earth_is_free
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Okay," Erik said, cutting into the conversation.  "Maybe we should get back to studying.  Alex, stop distracting everyone.  Jubilee, Kitty, don't do drugs.  Charles, try to keep your clothes on.  Okay?"</p><p>***</p><p>[a.k.a. the fic in which Erik, ex-lawyer, finds himself being the German language tutor for a study group at a community college, where he meets Charles, Harvard drop-out and recovering drug addict]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. GERMAN 101

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO !! and welcome to the first ever multi-chaptered fic that i've had the patience to only upload when fully finished !!!!! so here !!!!! in all its 14k word glory !!!!!! enjoy, my friends
> 
> warnings throughout the fic for drug addiction
> 
> (also i wasnt quite sure what constituted an "explicit" rating so i put it there just to be sure so please dont feel put out if there isn't the wild graphic sexy times you were expecting !!!)
> 
> translated into chinese here: http://www.mtslash.org/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=204526&page=1#pid4007839

 

 

 

 

 

"Erik!" his childhood friend Kurt Wagner exclaimed, standing up from behind his desk to shake Erik's hand.  "What brings big hotshot criminal lawyer Erik Lehnsherr to my humble community college office?  Oh wait.  This isn't about the dean's bumper is it?  Because, I swear, that scratch was there weeks before I started parking my c-"

"I'm a student here."

Wow, that was harder and more humiliating to spit out than the "I'm gay" admission he gave his mother when he was sixteen years old. 

Kurt froze.  And then he frowned.

"That could not have been an inspiring journey," he said.

It really wasn't.

"My license got suspended by the state bar.  Apparently, I need an undergraduate degree to practise law," Erik said, with bitter sarcasm.  "And not just a certificate from my high school debate coach."

"Well, I could have told you that," Kurt said, unaware as ever of Erik's patent sardonicism.  "What does Edie think?"

"I haven't told her," Erik said, quickly.  "And you won't either.  I cannot let my mother know that I've been fired from my position at a prestigious law firm and am now going to a community college."

Kurt frowned.

"You know, I do teach at this community college," he said.  "And Edie is always very supportive-"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually," Erik said, cutting off that train of thought before he did something stupid, like insult his childhood friend's career choice.  "I need to graduate as soon as possible, to get back to actually doing something worthwhile with my life, so you need to place me out of the language requirement."

Kurt inspected Erik for a moment.

" _Entschuldigung_ , Erik," he said, finally.  "I'm not going to do that."

Erik frowned.

"Kurt, I'm fluent in German," he said.  "I've been speaking German to you since I was one and a half and you were a newborn baby.  Why the fuck not?"

"Well," Kurt said.  "My relationship with the dean is a bit rocky right now because of a certain, uh, parking lot incident, and the fact that all my students are _außerordentlich dumm_.  But if you were in my class, consistently handing in well-written essays, I could probably even convince the dean to give me tenure..."

Erik blanched.

"You would ruin my life just to get tenure at a shitty community college?" he demanded, coldly.

Kurt squeaked.

"Firstly," he said, quite bravely considering the extent of Erik's potential wrath.  "This college has highest graduation rate of all schools in the southwest quadrant of Westchester County, so watch what you call "shitty".  Secondly, I wouldn't consider your life ruined just because you have to take German 101."

Erik snorted and stood up to leave.

"Seriously!" Kurt called after Erik.  "You might even learn something!"

Erik rolled his eyes and shut the office door with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

German 101 was a lesson in secondhand embarrassment.  Erik sat at the back of the class, watching while Kurt jumped about the room and attempted, in his fast, heavily accented way, to explain the fact that inanimate objects had genders, while half the class dozed off and the other half clutched their heads in despair as the German language destroyed everything they thought they knew about the gender binary.  It would have been funny, if it hadn't just become the reality of Erik's life twice a week until winter break.

The nerdy-looking boy sitting next to Erik glanced over at Erik's worksheet, which he had filled in during the first 30 seconds of class and which was now home to a bunch of doodled spider webs that were mapping their way across the page.

"Wait," the boy said, as Kurt valiantly tried to help a girl in the front row understand that there are, in fact, multiple definite articles.  "Why did you put _das Madchen_?  Doesn't _Madchen_ mean girl?"

Erik winced at the boy's horrific pronunciation.

"It does, yes," he explained, because teaching German was apparently more interesting than drawing spider webs.  "But it ends with _-chen_ , which makes it neuter.  And it's pronounced _Mädchen_.  The umlaut makes the vowel soft."

The boy nodded, frowning, as he processed this information.

"So that means _Brotchen_ is also neuter?"

" _Brötchen_ ," Erik corrected.  "And yes."

"Wow!" the boy said, apparently very impressed.  "You're so good at German!"

"Yeah, well, I've been speaking it since before Kurt Wagner was born," he said.

"Why are you in German 101, then?" the boy asked.

Erik sighed.

"Fuck if I know."

The boy laughed nervously, and then said: "I'm Hank, by the way."

"Erik," Erik replied.

"Have you ever considered doing German tutoring, Erik?" Hank asked, as Kurt wrote a chart of indefinite articles on the whiteboard.

Erik hesitated.  Hank seemed a nice enough kid, but hell if Erik was going to spend more time in this shithole of a school than was absolutely necessary.  He was still only on season five of 'The Office' and the Dwight vs Andy feud had just started to escalate.

"I'll wash your car?" Hank suggested.

"Meet me in Study Room F after class," Erik said.  "Bring coffee."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Erik showed up to Study Room F about five minutes after class finished, only to find that it had already been occupied by a study group.  Swearing quietly, he glanced around the corridor to see if Hank was in the area, hopefully with something warm and caffeinated.

"Oh, hey, Erik!" Hank greeted, appearing suddenly from behind a bookshelf with a tray of about seven cups of coffee.

"How much coffee do you drink?!" Erik exclaimed in horror.  And his mother thought _Erik_ had a coffee addiction...

"Oh no," Hank said.  "This is for everyone."

"Who's everyone?" Erik asked slowly, afraid of the answer.

Hank, however, didn't hear him, as he pushed open the glass door to Study Room F and entered with a smile.

"Hi guys!" he greeted.  "This is Erik.  He's going to teach us German!"

The study group cheered.

Erik blinked, and then followed Hank into the room.

"You didn't mention there would be anyone else," Erik hissed.  "Are they all going to wash my car too?"

Hank bit his lip anxiously.

"I thought you could figure out alternative payment plans for them," he said.  "And, anyway, they all seemed really eager to learn German, so I didn't want to say they _couldn't_ come..."

"Payment?" one of the girls demanded.  "I was informed that this would be a free study session."

Hank glanced at Erik with a worried look.

Erik sighed.

"It's free for everyone except Hank, who has to wash my car every week this month," he said, which was surprisingly diplomatic, considering that he was basically doing this for half of the price that he had originally agreed to.

Hank blinked, and then silently nodded.

Erik decided that he liked this kid.

"Okay," he said, grabbing a cup of coffee from Hank's tray and sitting down.  "Let's start by introducing ourselves.  _Ich heiβe Erik Lehnsherr_."

" _Ich heiβe Angel Salvadore_ ," the girl who had asked about payments said.  "And I have to leave by four to get to my job."

" _Ich heiβe Kitty Pryde_ ," the girl next to Angel said.  Erik wondered if she was old enough to even be at college- the neon pink nail polish and plastic hoop earrings placed her squarely in the age bracket that Erik had dubbed the "It's Weird If I, A Twenty-Five Year Old, Even Look At You" age.  

" _Ich heiβe Alex Summers_ ," said a blond boy, who was sitting opposite Erik.  Erik instantly recognised him as a high school jock and anticipated, with much _Schadenfreude_ , the moment that this kid realised that nobody at community college cares about how cool you apparently were in senior year.

" _Ich heiβe Hank McCoy_ ," Hank said. 

" _Ich heiβe Jubilation Lee,_ " said the girl to Hank's left.  "But you can call me Jubilee."  Cool name, weird outfit choices, was Erik's first thought.  But, then again, maybe yellow leather jackets were all the rage with eighteen year olds these days.

" _Ich heiβe Charles Xavier_ ," said the boy directly to Erik's right, who was sporting a navy cardigan and perhaps the worst German accent Erik had ever heard.  It was like listening to a five year old learning to play the violin.

It looked like Erik really had his work cut out for him.

"Wait, Charles Xavier?" the blond boy, Alex, asked.  "As in Charles Xavier from Riverside High?"

Charles did not look very pleased to have been identified as such.

"Yes," he mumbled, opening up his textbook and flicking absent-mindedly through the first chapter.

"I thought you went to Harvard, dude!" Alex exclaimed.

"I did," Charles replied, with a pompous sniff.

"You went to Harvard?" Erik asked, without helping himself.  What the hell was this kid doing here?

"Went and left," Charles said.

"Oh man, you're like a legend at Riverside!" Alex continued, seemingly oblivious to Charles' discomfort.  "No one would shut up about Chalky Charlie and his genius brain."

"Chalky Charlie?" Kitty asked.

"Yeah," Alex said.  "Your boy Charles here did a shitton of coke in senior year.  They say that's what made him so smart.  Although, the rumours also described him as a five foot lesbian so they might not be entirely accurate."

Erik spluttered on his sip of coffee.  He surreptitiously inspected the boy sitting next to him: from his small frame to his starchy white button-up, and tried to imagine him being a high school cocaine-snorting "legend".

"Don't listen to him, Kitty," Charles said.  "Cocaine doesn't make you smart and I'm five seven at least."

"You did get into Harvard though," Angel pointed out.

"Before I got kicked out in my second year for getting high and climbing onto the statue of John Harvard's lap and telling him what I wanted for Christmas that year."

"They expelled you just for that?" Jubilee asked.

"Well that, and the fact that I was buck naked and it was ten in the morning on a Wednesday," Charles clarified.

"Cool," Jubilee said.

"No, not cool," Charles said.  "It was humiliating and it ruined my life."

"Okay," Erik said, cutting into the conversation.  "Maybe we should get back to studying.  Alex, stop distracting everyone.  Jubilee, Kitty, don't do drugs.  Charles, try to keep your clothes on.  Okay?"

Everyone nodded.

Erik exhaled a deep breath.

"Alright," he said.  "Let's start with conjugating _sein_."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

To his surprise, Erik found himself kind of enjoying tutoring the study group.  Despite their differences in age and ability, all of them were willing to work hard and listen to what Erik had to say.  Charles, who, at the age of 21, was the oldest apart from Erik, was the clear best at memorising long reams of vocabulary in a scarily short amount of time.  However, their youngest member, seventeen year-old Kitty, had the most convincing German accent.  It was quite nice that there weren't clear divides between the older and younger students, and Erik found himself agreeing to weekly sessions with the group, provided someone brought him a tall mocha with extra cream each week.

Hank looked at Erik apprehensively when this was being negotiated, before Erik put him out of his misery and said that three car washes were good enough.

 


	2. BASIC AUTO REPAIR AND MAINTENANCE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: non-consensual outing (accidental)

 

 

 

 

Later that week, Erik was driving to his morning calculus class in his Lexus, when he discovered that there was some sort of event happening in the college car park.  There were people milling around the lawn, watching and giggling at something.  Erik quickly parked in the corner furthest away from the excitement and got out of his car, instantly assaulted by loud pop music being blasted from someone's portable speakers.  With a groan, he started making his way to his class' building on the other side of the parking lot, when he saw the huge hand painted sign that was hung between two trees.

CHARITY CAR WASH $5

Erik kept walking, until he saw it and had to stop in his tracks.

The kids from the study group were parading around in their swimsuits, holding soapy sponges and buckets of water, and washing cars.  Even dorky Hank was bare-chested, wearing a pair of blue trunks and an embarrassed expression.  It obviously wasn't his idea, then...

"Erik!" a bright British voice shouted from a table on the lawn.  Charles Xavier was sitting at the table with a locked box and a pile of papers.

"Hello, Charles," Erik said, raising his voice above the ghastly music.  "What the hell is happening?"

"Well," Charles said, with a sparkling grin.  "Since Hank was going to wash your car anyway, I thought we might as well make it a group effort to help save the Westchester County Library.  It's going swimmingly: we've made thirty-five dollars just this morning!"

Erik blinked.  He opened his mouth to ask about the initiative to save the library, but somehow ended up asking: "why are you wearing clothes?"

Charles flushed and opened his mouth, but Erik interrupted him.

"Sorry," he said, internally cursing to himself in German.  "I just meant, why aren't you wearing a swimsuit like the kids are?"

"Oh," Charles said, his flush fading.  "Well, someone has to handle the finances and keep an eye on the donations."

Erik, still trying to recover from his humiliation, kept pushing.

"I know that," he said.  "But aren't you worried that people will think you're exploiting these teens?"

Charles narrowed his eyes.

"What are you accusing me of?" he asked, with a low voice.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," Erik replied, in a very lawyerly way.  "I'm just concerned that other people might find it a bit odd."

Charles glared at Erik.

"If you really must know," he said, stiffly.  "I have a medical condition that means I can't take off my shirt in public.   Goodbye, Erik."

Erik's mouth fell open.

"Charles," he said, desperately.  "I'm really sorry.  I-"

"Goodbye, Erik," Charles repeated, looking down at his papers.

Erik left, and went to calculus feeling like the world's biggest dickhead, which he probably was.  Or at least in the top three.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After class, Erik was sitting in the library, completing his calculus problem sets, when Alex Summers appeared, fully clothed, and slumped in the chair next to him.

"How's the car wash going?" Erik asked, not looking up from his trigonometric integration question.

"Dude," Alex replied.  "What the fuck did you do to Charles?"

Erik's face went cold.

"Is he alright?" he asked, looking Alex straight in the eyes.

"He's been irritable ever since you two talked earlier this morning," Alex whined, and his adolescent response comforted Erik somewhat into believing that Charles wasn't grievously hurt by Erik's insensitivity. 

"Did he say anything to you?" Erik asked.

"No, but he's been real morose and he told Kitty to put on a shirt."

Erik pursed his lips.

"What do you think I should do?" Erik asked, not because he thought Alex was going to give great advice, but because there was a reason Alex sat next to him and it wasn't just to complain about Charles.

"I don't know, man," Alex said.  "I'd try talking to Hank, since he and Charles are, like, friends or whatever."

That was actually surprising to Erik.  Although Hank and Charles were both obviously massive nerds, he'd always considered Hank to be a Dungeons & Dragons, Lego robots kind of nerd and Charles to be an Emily Bronté, chess-playing kind of nerd.  But, then again, they did both go to Westchester, so anyone who had any interest in academia probably clung to each other like a couple on a lifeboat in a sea of mediocrity.

"Okay," Erik said.  "Where is Hank right now?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hank, it turned out, was in the computer section of the library, using the school's ancient technology to log results for some psychology experiment.

"Hello, Hank," Erik said, picking up a chair and moving it next to Hank's.

"Oh, hi, Erik," Hank said, not turning to look at Erik as he slowly chicken-pecked a row of numbers into Microsoft Excel.  It was excruciating to witness.

Tearing his attention away from the maddening screen, Erik remembered what he came here for, and said: "I think I've upset Charles."

"Hmm," Hank said, prodding a number key, before glancing down at his paper, and pressing backspace.  Erik wondered if perhaps _this_ was the psychology experiment and Hank was just waiting to see how long it took before Erik flipped a table.

"Do you know how I can make it up to him?" Erik asked, quickly, in the vain hope that it would provoke a quick response.

"Umm," Hank said, shakily moving the mouse to save his work.  "It really depends on what you did to upset him in the first place."

"I might have made an insensitive comment about his, uh, medical condition," Erik muttered, still feeling guilty as fuck.

Hank frowned.

"What medical condition?" he asked, turning his eyes away from the screen and looking at Erik, thoughtfully.

Oh shit.  Did Erik just accidentally give away Charles' private information?  If Erik had only been in the running for biggest dickhead in the world before, he was definitely the winner at this point.

"I thought you were better than that, Erik," Hank said, accusatorially, and Erik was shocked to hear a grit of hurt in Hank's voice.

"I'm so sorry," Erik said.  "I didn't-"

"'Medical condition'?" Hank repeated, with a bitterness that Erik never would have expected from him.  "You transphobic piece of-"

"Wait, what?" Erik interrupted.  "'Transphobic'?  I'm not..."

And then it hit him.

"Charles is trans?" he asked.

There was a beat of silence.

"Wait, you didn't know?" Hank asked, anger soon being replaced by horror on his face.

"Wait, you thought I was referring to Charles' gender identity as a 'medical condition'?" Erik asked, comprehension dawning on him.

"Well, I didn't know what else to think!" Hank hissed.  Then, he put his head in his hands.  "I can't believe I just outed my best friend," he moaned.

Erik leaned back in his chair and thought, hard.

"Please don't tell him that I told you," Hank said, his words muffled slightly by his huge hands.

"I won't," Erik promised.  Charles' personal life had already been through a lot today.  "But you have to tell me what Charles' favourite dessert is."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Three o'clock saw Erik walking from the nearest bakery with a box of something called a Bakewell tart, all the way back to the college parking lot, where the car wash was still in full swing.  Erik noticed that his own car hadn't yet been touched, but he wasn't really in the mood to care.

Charles was still sitting at the table, chatting animatedly to Angel about something that required a lot of hand gestures.  He looked up when Erik walked up to the table, his voice trailing off, and Angel seemed to suddenly be needed by the car wash.

"Hello, Erik," Charles said.

"I brought you a tart," said Erik, placing the peace offering on the table.

Charles looked at the box, puzzled, before opening it with a surprised smile.

"It's a Bakewell tart," he said, a delicate wonderment in his voice.  Then, "I couldn't possibly eat this all by myself.  Would you like to share?"

Thankfully, the bakery had provided Erik with two plastic forks.  He didn't think he was far enough into his apology to feed off the same fork as Charles.

Like he did with most traditional English desserts, Erik found the tart a bit dry, but Charles seemed happy enough with it, although he did say that it was a bit too "Americanised", whatever that meant.

"So, when did you move to America?" Erik asked, pushing what was left of the tart over to Charles.  "You finish it."

"Ah, thank you," Charles said.  "And I was actually born in Westchester, New York, and only lived in England between the ages of two and eight.  I suppose those were the formative years."

"Huh," said Erik.  "So you've been living in America since you were eight, then?"

Charles nodded.  "Guess I'm just bad at picking up the accent," he joked.

"That seems a common theme in your life," Erik commented, wryly, before suddenly wishing he could take it back.

Charles, however, looked at Erik with a surprised expression, before he tilted his head back and laughed.

Erik smiled a crooked grin, and took at a packet of cigarettes from the back pocket of his jeans.

"Want one?" he offered, as he flicked open the packet and placed one in his own mouth.

Charles looked at the packet, almost longingly, before shaking his head.

"No thank you," he said.  "I've quit."

"Oh," said Erik, before he quickly took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and replaced it in the packet, which he put back in his pocket.  "Sorry."

Charles frowned.

"Oh no," he said.  "You don't have to avoid smoking around me.  I just promised myself I wouldn't get back into it- you're absolutely welcome to continue."

"That's very altruistic of you," Erik said, completely sincerely.

Charles shrugged.

"It's really the least I could do," he said, cryptically.

When Alex had told the study group about "Chalky Charlie", Erik had pegged Charles as a reckless frat boy with too much money to blow on drugs and booze.  However, actually talking to Charles and joking with him and hearing him refuse a vice as small as a cigarette, Erik wondered if Charles' drug habit had been an actual problem.  Charles was twenty-one after all, and if he had been kicked out of his second year at Harvard, that left a whole year unaccounted for before he had joined Westchester Community College. 

Erik looked pensively at Charles, who was now sucking the last traces of tart off his fork in the most upsettingly innocent way, and swore to himself to never underestimate this kid ever again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next day, Charles asked Erik if he wanted to have lunch together.

And then again the day after that.

The day after that was Saturday, so Erik didn't see Charles at all, and instead lay on his bed and progressed to season six of 'The Office'.  It didn't feel like much of an accomplishment.

On Sunday, Erik received his weekly call from his mother.

"Hello, mama," he said, dutifully, as he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

"Hello, Erik," his mother replied.  "Had a busy week?"

Erik chuckled.

"You have no idea."

 

 

 

 

 


	3. A BRIEF HISTORY OF CRIMINAL LAW

 

 

 

 

 

The car wash soon became a weekly venture.  Although Erik technically didn't have to pay for his wash, he always donated at least ten dollars, if only to see Charles light up with astonishment.

That was the nice thing about Charles.  No matter how many times Erik donated money to the library, or brought Charles something nice from the cafeteria, or even just asked Charles if he wanted to have lunch together, Charles would always act surprised.  It was almost like he never expected anyone to be nice to him, which was absolutely ridiculous, considering how abundantly generous he was to everyone around him.

When Kitty complained that someone in her biology class had stole her pens, Charles had immediately offered to buy her a whole new pack.  When the fire alarm went off in the middle of German because some idiot decided to light up in the very clearly smoking-prohibited library, Charles had lent his cardigan to Angel, who was shivering slightly in the breezy parking lot.  And when Erik commented on what a pity it was that the painted chessboards on the quad's picnic benches didn't have any pieces, Charles came in the next day with a sandwich bag of plastic chess pieces and a saucy eyebrow-raise.

"Quick game before calculus?" Charles asked, because of course he had memorised Erik's timetable.

"Alright," Erik said.  "White or black?"

They were only about ten minutes into the game, when Erik saw her.

A flash of blonde hair and white linen, and Erik was under the table, praying that he hadn't just been seen at Westchester Community College by his former arch nemesis. 

"Erik, what are y- ouch!"

Erik felt slightly bad about poking Charles in the shin, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Charles!" a familiar feminine voice drawled, and Erik felt his stomach drop like it was made of concrete.

"Emma!" Charles replied, cheerily.  "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I was just stopping by to serve the lovely Dean Howlett his assault charges," Emma replied.  Then, "Erik Lehnsherr?  Is that you?"

Oh crap.

Defeated, Erik emerged from under the table and clambered back onto his seat.

"Oh, hello, Emma," he said, glumly.  "I was just looking for a pawn that had rolled onto the ground."

Emma raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't comment.

Charles looked between the two of them.

"You two know each other?" he asked, brightly.

"Erik and I worked together at Shaw & Quested up until very recently," she told Charles.  "And what about you?  Aren't you supposed to be in Massachusetts, right now?"

"I decided to take a year out," Charles said, breezily.  "My mother hasn't been well, and I decided to stay in New York to look after her."

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," Emma replied.  "But I hope you're finding enough to do here in Westchester!  I would be quite terrified to see the infamous Charles Xavier bored."

Charles laughed.

"I'm getting along fine," he said, charmingly.  "Erik here is teaching me German on the side."

"Is that so?" Emma asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Erik said shortly.  "And, I'm sorry, Charles, but I'd better go to my, uh, meeting."

"Yes, yes," Charles said.  "I don't want to make you late."

Erik stood up, nodded once to Emma, and then ran across the quad to enter the building from the other side, so Emma didn't see him go into the actual college.  God knows how he'd ever be taken seriously at Shaw & Quested, if they all knew where he was getting his degree.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Erik's calculus class had finally finished, Charles was waiting outside the classroom, tapping his foot against the ground nervously.

Erik frowned.

"Do you want to have lunch?" Charles asked.

Erik checked his watch.  It was only 11:45.

"Sure," he said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The cafeteria was almost entirely deserted when Erik and Charles showed up.  The kitchen didn't even start serving hot food until noon, so they both grabbed a cup of cold soup and a sandwich each and headed towards the plastic booth near the window, which was Charles' favourite spot.

There was a moment of awkward silence while both men unwrapped their sandwiches.

"I'm sorry-" Charles said, at the exact same time that Erik asked: "How do you know Emma?"

"Oh," said Charles.  "Our fathers run in the same social circles.  I've known her since I was a child."

Erik's eyebrow twitched.  He couldn't even imagine the impenetrable Emma Frost doing anything as human as growing up.  Perhaps some of his bemusement showed on his face, because Charles went on to say:

"she hasn't always been like that.  Emma was a rather spritely fourteen year-old.  I remember her having a rock collection."

Erik's lips pulled into a grin.

"You don't say," he replied.  "Are you still close?"

"I would say so," Charles said.  "Although she might disagree, I would certainly consider us friends."

Erik laughed, before becoming suddenly silent.

"Charles," he said, edgily.  "How are you planning on keeping this from her?"

"What are you talking about?" Charles asked, frowning.

"You know very well," Erik retorted.  It was possibly the most frustrating thing in the world when Charles Xavier, IQ of 189 (according to one of Hank's psychology studies), played dumb.  "You can't hide the fact that you're no longer at Harvard forever."

Charles sighed and poked at the surface of his soup with his spoon.

"You'd be surprised," he said.  "The administration at Harvard said that they would remove all record of my, uh, dishonourable discharge, provided I went to rehab and didn't tell anyone that half their teaching assistants were selling."

Erik raised his eyebrows.

"Oh," he said.

"After my year at the clinic, my parents expected me to go straight back to any Ivy school that would take me," Charles continued.  "I even went so far as to get accepted into Cornell, but I decided it was probably best if I took a break from all of that."

"Cornell?" Erik repeated.  He couldn't even comprehend turning down an Ivy to come to a school that gave a social sciences credit for Beginners' Pottery.

Charles shrugged.

"I think I made the right choice," he said.  "At least, for now.  Also, Cornell is in the middle of fucking nowhere."

Erik laughed.

"I guess you're right."

"But what about you, Erik?" Charles asked, turning his distinctively blue eyes to Erik.  "You can't hide your college education from your CV."

Erik cleared his throat.

"Actually," he said.  "When my boss found out that I'd faked my college education, he was more impressed than angry.  He told me to get an undergraduate degree as soon as possible, by any means necessary, so I could come back to work.  So, as long as I work under Shaw, I'll be fine."

Charles frowned.

"That doesn't seem like a very stable long-term solution," he said.

"Says the man who lied to a family friend about the wellbeing of his family," Erik retorted with a smirk.

Charles grinned.

"Touché."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. APPLIED PHYSICAL EDUCATION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of murder, bad parenting

 

 

 

 

 

A few weeks passed with little incident.  Except for Halloween, when the dean showed up with a fistful of knives as his "costume" and had to be escorted off the premises by campus security.  And that time, a week later, when Hank accidentally called Erik "dad" during study group and no one had let him live it down.  In fact, within the hour, it had become a running joke between Alex, Kitty and Jubilee to call Erik "dad".

"Does this mean Charles is the study group mom?" Alex had asked.

"Shut the fuck up, Alex," Erik had said, while keeping an anxious eye on Charles, who, to his great relief, seemed more amused than offended by the comment. 

It was a stupid thing for Alex to say, anyway, even when one ignored the whole gender thing.  If Erik was the dad and Charles was the mom, that would mean they were married.  Erik and Charles were certainly not married.  They weren't even close to _dating_.  Just because they had become close friends relatively quickly and had a few inside jokes about various chess masters...  The whole premise was ridiculous and made Erik's neck hot.

It would also imply that the study group was a family, which they weren't in the slightest.  Although they were all technically "friends", the group never hung out as a unit of more than three people outside of study sessions and the car wash venture, and Erik was fine with that.  But this all changed when Kitty Pryde decided to have a birthday.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"Alright," Erik said, entering the study room for that day's session.  "Kurt has decided to force us to talk about activities and hobbies, so that's what we're going to do.  Who has my coffee?"

Hank wordlessly handed Erik a satisfyingly heavy paper cup.

" _Danke,_ " Erik said, graciously.  "Kitty?  _Was machst du dieses Wochenende?_ "

"Uh," Kitty replied, flipping through her textbook.  "Oh!  'What am I doing this weekend'?  Well..."

" _Auf Deutsch, bitte,_ " Erik reminded her.

"Right," she said.  "Uh, dad?  What's 'birthday' in German?"

Erik rolled his eyes at the nickname that he still hadn't been able to shake.

"It's _Geburts-_ "

"It's your birthday this weekend?" Charles interrupted, suddenly looking up from the vocabulary list he had been staring at.

Kitty nodded.

"I'm turning eighteen on Sunday," she said, with a grin.

"Ah, so you can finally vote," said Erik, at the exact same time that Charles said, "so you can legally drink in England now."

Angel chuckled and muttered something about priorities to Alex.

"Are you doing anything to celebrate?" Charles asked.

" _Auf Deutsch, bitte,_ " Erik repeated.

"Sorry," Charles said with a charming smile.  "I mean, _es tut mir leid_."

" _Nein_ ," Kitty replied.  " _Meine Familie_ _sind_ , uh, out of state?  And none of my high school friends are around."

Charles frowned.

"But you have to have a party," he said, as if the idea of _not_ having an annual birthday party was something Charles had never considered.

Kitty shrugged politely.

"Say, Kitty," Charles said, suddenly.  "What's your stance on bowling?"

" _Auf Deutsch, bitte_!"

Charles rolled his eyes.

" _Es tut mir leid,_ " he said.  "Kitty, _was denkst du über Kegeln?_ "

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Erik supposed that it wasn't really Kitty's fault that she turned eighteen on November 15th.  And it was mostly Charles' fault that the whole study group (plus some kid from Kitty's literature class) had to show up to Westchester Bowling Alley & Arcade at 8pm on a Sunday.  But Erik blamed Kitty nevertheless.  She should have known better than to seem friendless in front of Charles Xavier.

Erik arrived at eight o'clock exactly to find Kitty, Jubilee and Charles already sitting by a lane in red and blue velcro shoes.

"Erik, you came!" Kitty exclaimed with a bright smile.

"Yes," Erik said.  "I brought you a present."

He took out the Tupperware box from under his arm and held it out for Kitty.

"Wow, thank you, Erik!" Kitty squealed, taking the box from Erik and snapping the clasps of the lid open.  "Oh my gosh, you brought me knishes?!"

"I did," Erik confirmed, trying not to wince at the high pitch of Kitty's gratitude.  "I cooked them this afternoon."

"What's a knish?" Jubilee asked, peering into the box.

"It's like this Jewish potato pastry thing.  My mom makes them all the time," Kitty explained.  "Do you want to try one?"

"That's a really lovely present, Erik," Charles commented, as they watched the two girls wave over Hank and Alex, who had just arrived at the alley, and offer them knishes.

"It was mostly self-serving," Erik confessed.  "I ate about a quarter of the original batch for dinner today."

Charles laughed.

"I hadn't realised you could cook," he said, biting his lip, which made Erik's traitorous ears flush.

"Say that again after you've tried the knishes," he muttered, which made Charles laugh again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Bowling was surprisingly not terrible.  Erik hadn't gone bowling in years, so he was a little rusty, but most of the fun was not in hitting down the pins but in watching the other teams fail to do so.  Charles and Erik had naturally paired up, and Kitty and Jubilee had also made a team, leaving Hank and Angel to group together, and Alex and the non-study-group kid, who apparently was called Pietro.

Charles was appalling at bowling.  It seemed that there wasn't enough room in his ridiculous brain for both biochemistry and hand-eye co-ordination, so most of his balls ended up slowly rolling down the gutter.  Erik would have been frustrated at his partner's extreme lack of talent, except that teasing Charles turned out to be a thousand times more fun than winning.

Not that he could have won anyway, playing against Hank and Angel, who had somehow become an indestructible duo.  Maybe it was Hank's freaky huge hands, or maybe it was Angel's ferocious spin, but the evening ended with Hank and Angel winning the game by a landslide, followed by Alex and Pietro, Kitty and Jubilee, and finally, Charles and Erik.

"This was so much fun," Kitty said, as everyone was changing back into their shoes.  "Thank you, Charles."

"No problem, Kitty," Charles replied.  "And, before I forget, here's your birthday present."

He removed from his leather satchel a rectangular present wrapped in pastel pink paper.

Kitty took the gift and ripped open the paper.

"Oh, Charles," she said.  "Thank you so much.  How did you know I loved this series?"

She took the wrapping off the gift to show it to the group: _An Acceptable Time_ by Madeleine L'Engle.

"You mentioned time-travel after German more than once," he said, shrugging.

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Wow, Charles," he said, drily.  "Way to make my knishes look like shit."

Charles' lip twitched and Alex spat his soda all over Pietro's patent silver Doc Martens.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Since it was almost ten-thirty at night and only Angel, Pietro and Alex lived within walking distance to the bowling alley, Erik offered to give the rest of the kids (plus Charles) a ride home in his Lexus. 

It was quite peaceful, driving through Westchester County at night: Hank dozing on Jubilee's shoulder in the backseat, Kitty humming some pop song to herself as she read the blurb of her new book, Charles in the passenger seat, commenting on how bright the moon was despite New York light pollution.

Hank lived the closest, so he was dropped off first, then Kitty, then Jubilee.

"Whereabouts do you live, Charles?" Erik asked, as they waited for Jubilee to open and enter her front door before driving away.

"A few blocks further south than Hughes Street," Charles replied.

"Alright then," Erik replied, as he switched gears and started the drive.

Ten minutes later, they had only just reached the corner of Hughes Street, even despite the lack of traffic.

"This is quite a trek to school each day," Erik commented.

"I take the bus," Charles replied, easily.  Then, "if it's too far out of your way, you can just drop me off here and I can walk the rest of the w-"

"Yeah, I'm not going to do that," Erik said, as he drove past the second broken window of the street.  "Are you sure we're heading in the right direction?"

"Yes, you just take a left after this traffic light and my block of flats is just along that road," Charles said, reassuringly, but Charles' road wasn't any less grungey than the last.

Erik parked the car outside the building that Charles claimed as his own and started unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Erik, what are you-"

"I'm not letting you get murdered in the 30 seconds it takes to leave my car and enter your apartment door," Erik said, opening his car door.

"You're ridiculous," Charles replied.  "There hasn't been a murder on this road in almost a year."

" _Scheiβe_ , Charles," Erik exclaimed.  "That's not a statistic you should boast about.  You know what?  If you even _know_ the statistic for murders on a particular road, you should not be living on that road!"

Charles shrugged, before walking into the pitch black doorway of his building.

"Isn't there supposed to be a door there?!" Erik asked, trying not to sound like he was freaking out, but probably failing.

"Probably," Charles replied.  "But I think the landlord is getting it fixed soon."

Erik's eyes bulged, as he followed Charles up the stairs to the second floor, very glad that he decided to walk Charles to his apartment.

"Charles," Erik said, as Charles started the process of unlocking the four different bolt locks on his apartment door.  "I don't want to be rude, but do your parents know what kind of place you're living in?"

"Probably not," Charles replied.  "Would you like to come in, or...?"

"Yes, thank you," Erik said, if only so he could protect Charles from being alone in this terrible neighbourhood for as long as he could.  "Haven't you tried looking for a better building?  Maybe one that has a front door?"

Charles sighed.

"Westchester real estate isn't very cheap, my friend," he said, vaguely.  "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure," Erik said, distractedly, sitting down on the sofa, and looking around. 

The apartment itself was quite cramped and appeared to have only two rooms, one of which was probably the bathroom.  There was a twin-sized bed shoved against one of the walls of the main room and a kitchen area in the corner farthest from the front door.  What wasn't occupied by furniture that looked over-sized in this tiny apartment was filled with cardboard boxes, stacked on top of each other.  Erik assumed that this was Charles' version of organisation.

"I'm worried about you, Charles," Erik said, as Charles put a kettle on the miniature stove.  "Have you asked your parents if they could help you out with the rent?"

"No," Charles replied, opening the single kitchen cupboard and pulling out two mugs.  "They, uh, sort of disowned me."

"Sort of?" Erik repeated, looking sharply up at Charles.

"Alright, more like 'definitely'," Charles amended.  "My parents disowned me."

Erik's jaw dropped.

Then, he quickly shut his mouth again, before immediately opening it again to say: "move in with me."

"Sorry?"

The kettle started to whistle.

"Move in with me," Erik repeated, louder, as Charles switched off the stove.

"Erik, don't say things you don't-"

"I do mean it, Charles," Erik said, earnestly, standing up and walking over to Charles.  "Shaw, my boss, is paying for my rent until I finish my degree and, since I stopped working at the firm, I haven't had any use for my study.  It's a bit small, but I could easily convert it into a spare bedroom for you."

Charles pursed his lips and poured out two mugs of tea.

"I couldn't ask that of you, Erik," he said, placing a tea bag in each mug.

"You're not asking though," Erik replied, taking one of the mugs from the counter.  "I'm offering."

Charles closed his eyes and sighed.

"Come over to my apartment for dinner tomorrow," Erik urged.  "Obviously, you don't have to say yes until you've seen the place."

"Really, Erik-"

"Then, just have dinner with me, no strings attached."

Charles smiled.

"Alright," he conceded.  "But you simply have to cook me some more of those fabulous knishes."

 

 

 

 

 


	5. AN INTRODUCTION TO SOCIAL BEHAVIOUR AND COMMUNICATION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: talks about drugs, needles and transitioning

 

 

 

 

 

Erik walked into school the next day with the horrible feeling that Charles was going to go back on his promise and feign some excuse as to why he couldn't come over for dinner.  It would be a really well thought-out excuse too, with a lot of heartfelt apology.  The idea made Erik feel sick.

However, Erik's fears turned out to be ungrounded when, after Erik's history class, Charles approached him and asked what time he should arrive and whether he should bring anything.

"Seven o'clock.  Bring yourself and an open mind," Erik replied, saccharinely, and Charles smacked his arm for that.

"Says the man who wouldn't even forfeit an argument about ketchup last Thursday!"

"Ketchup is disgusting!"

"You were arguing with a literal fourteen year-old!"

There was some truth in that.  Some kids from the local high school had shown up to Westchester Community College to see what a real life college experience was like, only to be caught up in an impassioned argument with twenty-five year-old Erik Lehnsherr at the cafeteria.  But despite Charles' slightly legitimate point of view, Erik had never willingly compromised his opinions and he wasn't going to start now.

Charles rolled his eyes.

"You are insufferable," he told Erik, which meant that Erik had won.

Erik had a good feeling about this day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Twenty past six that evening saw Erik standing in front of his wardrobe and fretting about what to wear.  Which was ridiculous because this wasn't a date.  If anything, it was an informal business meeting to discuss real estate.  Maybe he should wear a suit, Erik thought, with a snort. 

In his mind's eye, he pictured what Charles was probably going to wear.  He would most likely show up in a white button-up and some ridiculously lumpy cardigan that would, later in the evening, be pushed up to his elbows to reveal Charles' freckly forearms...

Alright.  Erik pulled out his favourite black sweater out of the closet and made a mental note to turn the heating up slightly.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The doorbell rang at two minutes past seven, to reveal Charles who, as Erik had anticipated, was wearing a maroon cardigan.  What Erik had _not_ anticipated, however, was the green spiky plant whose pot Charles was clutching like a delicate baby animal.

"It's an aloe vera," Charles said.

Man, Charles Xavier was a weird one.

"I can see that," Erik said.  "May I ask why?"

Charles blushed.

"I didn't want to bring flowers in case you had allergies I didn't know about," he said.  "And I didn't know what you were cooking so I didn't think I should bring anything edible."

Erik stared at the green spiky plant some more.

"Thank you," he said, with complete sincerity.  "I love it."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The plant was placed on the kitchen table where they could stare at it while they ate Erik's homemade beef goulash.

Charles practically groaned when he took his first bite, which made Erik drop his fork in surprise.

"Erik," Charles exclaimed, with a mouthful of stew.  "This is simply gorgeous."

"Thank you," Erik replied, awkwardly, picking his fork back up.  "If you move in with me, you get to eat my fantastic German cooking every day."

Charles swallowed his mouthful and then looked at Erik with a mournful expression.

"If only I could," he said, wistfully.

Erik frowned.

"Is there something wrong with the apartment?" Erik asked, looking around, almost expecting to see a pile of dirty socks in the middle of the floor, guarded by an army of militant rats.

"No, no!" Charles denied.  "Your place is absolutely lovely."

"Then what's stopping you?" Erik demanded.

Charles took another bite of stew, as if stalling.

Erik waited patiently.

"I have to tell you something that might make you change your mind," Charles said, flushing.  

"Okay," said Erik.

Charles fidgeted.

"I'm uh," he said.  "Well, I'm transgender.  I started my transition about half-way through my year at rehab and I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable or anything. Obviously, you can rescind your offer for me to move in with you..."

"Why would that make me uncomfortable," Erik asked, flatly.

"Um," Charles said, nervously. 

"Charles," Erik said with a sigh.  "I really don't care.  No, wait, that was the wrong thing to say.  I do care because I care about you.  But it doesn't make a difference to my offer or our friendship and if it did, I would be a major asshole and that would be my problem, not yours; you understand me?"

And then, because Charles looked like he was on the verge of tears,

"And while we're sharing personal business, I'm really gay and I'm sorry if that makes _you_ uncomfortable."

Charles laughed.  Well, it was more of a hiccup than a laugh but who cared.

"That doesn't bother me either," he said.  Then,

"What do you mean by 'really gay'?"

Erik grimaced.

"When I was fourteen, I had a poster of the 2004 German Olympic rowing team on my bedroom wall and I had never even watched a boat race in my life."

Charles actually laughed then.

"Yeah," he said.  "That's pretty gay."

Erik didn't want to mention the fact that he already knew about Charles being transgender, not particularly because he'd promised Hank he wouldn't, but because he didn't want to make Charles' coming-out feel in any way less brave or momentous than it truly was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Charles moved in that Friday afternoon, when neither Charles nor Erik had classes.  Charles had originally suggested Sunday, but Erik insisted that Charles moved in a few days before his weekly rent was up, just in case there was a problem.  And Saturday was no good because Erik wasn't going to lift heavy objects on the Sabbath, nor was he going to stand idly and watch while Charles attempted to lift heavy objects.

So, that afternoon, Charles employed the help of Hank, whose parents owned a pick-up truck that would fit Charles' bed and bookshelf in the back of it, provided they used a lot of duct tape and didn't drive too fast.

The piles of cardboard boxes that had covered Charles' previous apartment's floor were put into cheap storage near the college.

"Won't you need those boxes?" Erik asked.

"Not for another few years," Charles replied, reassuringly.  "They're all my dad's old books on genetics and biochemistry that I won't be properly needing until I go to graduate school.  And, anyway, I can always come and root through the storage box to find whatever I feel like reading in the near future."

It was almost four o'clock when all three had returned to Erik's and had finally unpacked all of Charles' necessities into Erik's old study, about half an hour before the sun was due to set. 

It was kind of weird, looking into a room Erik had familiarised himself with so well, and seeing Charles' bed, bookshelf and chest of drawers in it.  There was a jarring juxtaposition between the off-white walls and impersonal easy-clean carpet, and Charles' heavy wooden furniture that looked like it belonged to some museum made out of the antique house of a long-dead Victorian author.

And then, because Erik was a good host, he offered to order in pizza for both Charles and Hank and watch season seven of _The Office._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Living with Charles was equal parts fun and stress-inducing.

Fun, because Charles was a good friend and a great chess-player, and he didn't seem to mind at all when Erik wanted to have alone time or not leave his bed for a whole day.

Stress-inducing, because of several reasons.

Firstly, Charles couldn't cook.  Erik learnt this on the first Saturday that Charles and Erik shared in the apartment, when Charles was attempting to steam some frozen dim sum for lunch and Erik had to instruct him and clench his teeth when the pot bubbled over and the dim sum dissolved into a mushy wreck at the bottom of the colander.

"I'm so sorry," Charles said, in a voice that was completely wrecked, and Erik sighed, and picked up the phone to order takeaway.

Secondly, having Charles constantly around meant Erik had very little solace from the constant attractiveness that was Charles Xavier.  When Charles and Erik had just been school friends, Erik could spend a long time in the morning, shaving and deciding what to wear, before he deemed himself decent enough to interact with Charles.  However, when Charles was stumbling around the kitchen in the morning, wearing a ridiculous dressing gown over his pyjamas, Erik had no time to prepare, physically or emotionally, for Charles  smiling at him sleepily or elbowing him out of the way to get to the toaster.

It wasn't even that he was particularly attracted _to_ Charles.  It was more a matter of pride when witnessing a very objectively attractive person and wanting to match oneself to their standard.

Thirdly, the Thanksgiving incident.

In retrospect, the entire Thanksgiving incident was 99% Erik's fault and could have been avoided if Erik had been less of a confrontational dick.  But here they were.

"Charles?" Erik asked, once they were about half way through their Thanksgiving dinner of fried chicken.

"Yes, Erik?" Charles replied with a ready smile.

"Are you well?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you well?" Erik repeated.  "Like, healthy."

Charles wrinkled his brow.

"I think so," he said slowly.  "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing really," Erik lied, stirring his mashed potato with his fork.  "I was just wondering because I found a syringe disposal unit under the bathroom sink and I thought it might be yours."

There was a beat of silence, during which Charles turned very pink.

"I just want to know if there's anything you would like to tell me," Erik said, honestly.

Charles' face just kept getting pinker.

"About that," Charles said, with an awkward laugh.  "I'm not shooting up or anything.  I would never break your trust like that, especially not in your own flat.  That's just for my medication."

Erik narrowed his eyes.

"But you said you were healthy," he replied, accusatorially.

"I am," Charles nodded.  "I just, uh..."

"You just...?"

Charles' mouth - usually pink, soft and open - hardened into a thin line.

"I have to keep regularly injecting myself with hormones as part of my transition," Charles said, quickly and monotonously.  "Thank you for dinner, Erik; it was lovely."

He then stood up and took his plate to the dishwasher, before leaving for his bedroom and closing the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It took two days of fretting and apologising before Erik felt like his relationship with Charles started to recover. 

Erik had always considered himself a very active member of the LGBT community: he went to Pride every year; he was very open about his sexuality at work and, in his time, he'd gone to quite a few protests for equal rights.  It was therefore quite humbling and embarrassing to find how little he knew about trans people, especially when one was living twenty feet away from his bedroom door.

So, during those two days of awkward conversation with Charles, Erik took to Google like Alex Summers before a deadline for a final paper. 

To start with, he read through the official New York legal documents on gender identity and discrimination, then the medical pages on a trans health clinic website, then a series of blogs written by various transgender people on the internet.

Erik's first thought on the matter was: _Holy shit.  Charles has to keep injecting himself with hormones for the rest of his life?_   His second thought was: _Holy shit.  I'm a massively ignorant dick._

The latter thought he relayed to Charles over breakfast on Sunday, followed by an uncharacteristic string of apologies.

Charles smiled, and it was a genuine one this time.

"Oh, Erik," he replied.  "It wasn't your fault.  I have been feeling particularly sensitive recently and I overreacted."

Erik frowned.

"No," he said.  "I'm pretty sure I was in the wrong."

Charles laughed.

"You didn't know."

"Ignorance is no excuse!" Erik exclaimed.  "I _should_ have known."

Charles cocked his head and contemplated Erik with a curious expression.

"You're very hard on yourself, aren't you?" he said finally, before picking up his newspaper and walking back to his room to get changed.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. CONTEMPORARY GENEALOGY STUDIES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: a slightly dub-con kiss

 

 

 

 

 

Two weeks before the end of the autumn term and the start of the winter holidays, it was Family Day.

The dean, Logan, had announced this fact a few days before by warning students over the intercom that: "my dickhead of a half-brother is going to be joining us on Wednesday so please do not attempt to speak to him or even make eye contact with him because he will probably be armed and will most definitely be dangerous.  Oh and, by the way, it's Family Day on Wednesday so bring your loved ones in or whatever."

Erik wasn't planning on dragging his mother into this humiliating hell-hole, even if only for one day, so it was quite surprising for him to walk into the study room to see that almost everyone in the group had brought someone into school.

Next to Alex was sitting a surprisingly preppy man about Erik's age who was wearing a green sweater and khakis, and sporting a pair of sunglasses.

"Scott," Alex said, when Erik had sat down at his seat.  "This is dad."

"Hi, dad," the prep, Scott, said with a smile.  "I'm Scott, Alex's older brother."

"Cool shades," Jubilee said, wearing her own bright pink pair on top of her head.  "Bold choice."

"Thanks," said Scott.  "But they're not a fashion statement.  I'm blind."

Erik raised his eyebrows and Alex furtively glanced around the room, as if challenging the group to make a rude comment.  When no one did, his shoulders relaxed somewhat and he leant back in his chair.  Scott quirked a smile and put a comforting hand on Alex's shoulder, as if he knew exactly what Alex had been doing.  It was kind of sweet.

Erik looked around the rest of the room to see whom he assumed were Jubilee's mother, both of Kitty's parents, Hank's dad, and Angel sitting by herself, all squeezed in around the square table.

Erik furrowed his brow.

"Where's Charles?"

Hank looked at Erik strangely.

"Don't you come into school together?" he asked.

"Yes," Erik replied, realising that he had to be on his best behaviour, since he didn't want to be an asshole to the kids in front of their parents in case he got conveniently murdered later or, worse, reprimanded by Dean Howlett.  "But I think he went to find his sister."

Erik had heard basically nothing about Charles' sister, except that she was still living with their parents and her name was Raven, until two days ago, when Charles mentioned that he was excited for Erik to meet her.  Maybe it was a British thing to not talk about your family much, but it seemed a little weird to Erik that he had only barely registered the fact that Charles had siblings less than a week ago.

"Hello, everyone!" said a cheery familiar British voice from behind Erik.  He craned his neck around to see Charles, with a smiling blonde girl on his arm.  "This is my little sister, Raven."

Raven didn't say anything to the group, but merely nodded and smiled politely, before she and Charles went to pull up two more chairs to the table.

Much as Erik had expected, it was a lot harder to study when there were six more people in the room to distract everyone, so he decided to cut the session early.  Most of the group dispersed, undoubtedly to introduce their parents to other friends, while Charles and Raven stayed in the room.

"So, you're Erik," Raven said immediately, staring at Erik with an intense hardness.

"Yes," Erik replied.  Then, to be annoying, "and you're Raven."

"He's exactly what I expected," Raven informed Charles.

" _He's_ still here," Erik said, affronted.  He wasn't sure if he should be offended that his corporeal presence wasn't more surprising.

"Be nice, Raven," Charles said, with a tired voice that indicated this was a common conversational theme.  "Erik has been impossibly lovely."

Raven looked at Erik with adolescent distrust.

"I'm sure he has been," she said, fidgeting.

Erik looked at Charles for guidance.

 "Erik," Charles started, with that charming smile that always meant that he was going to ask for a favour and always meant that Erik was going to do it for him.  "I have a chemistry practical in a few minutes.  Do you think you could possibly watch Raven for the next hour or so?"

"Uh, sure," Erik said, fully aware that he was agreeing to potentially the most awkward hour of his life. 

"Thank you so much," Charles said.  Then, to Raven, "please try to keep torturing Erik to a minimum."

And then he left.

"So, uh, do you want to get some coffee?" Erik asked, mentally crossing his fingers.

"Sure."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"So, how old are you, Raven?" Erik asked, when they had both settled down with a warm mug of coffee by the window in the cafeteria.

"18 last month," Raven replied, which meant that she was almost exactly the same age as Kitty.

That was a weird thought, seeing as most of Kitty's jewellery was probably made from plastic and stainless steel, while Raven seemed to have already mastered the skill of winged eyeliner and was wearing knee-high boots with a short leather skirt.

"Have you applied to any colleges yet?"

"Yes," Raven replied.

"Do you have a favourite?"

"Not Harvard," Raven said, with a twitch of the lip.

Erik wasn't sure how to respond to that, and maybe Raven took pity on his floundering, because she went on to say:

"I think I like Brown the most."

Erik nodded.

"Rhode Island is a lot of fun," he said, knowledgeably, having only been to Providence once when he was nine.

"So, Erik," Raven said, suddenly.  "What's the deal with you and Charles?"

"Um," Erik said, suddenly aware of the heartbeat in his chest.  "We're roommates."

Raven rolled her eyes.

"I know that," she said.  "I'm just asking you if you're screwing each other yet."

Erik jumped, spilling coffee onto his hand and wincing at the burn.

"Charles and I are just friends," he said, dabbing at his hand with a napkin from the table.

"Oh," said Raven said, pouting.  "That's a bit disappointing."

Erik glanced at his watch surreptitiously.  He still had forty-five minutes to go.

"I don't think this conversation is very appropriate," he said, feeling rather like he'd aged twenty years in the past fifteen minutes.

"Alright then," Raven replied.  "What do you want to talk about, then?  Chess?  Biochemistry?  French philosophy from the 19th century?"

Erik found himself loosening up enough to smile at that.

"What about music?" he asked.  "What kinds of bands do you listen to?"

To Erik's great surprise and relief, Raven seemed very open to polite conversation, once she was done mortifying her conversational partner.  She also seemed like quite a cool kid: she liked a lot of the classic indie rock bands that Erik had liked as a teenager; she had an opinion on basically every Western contemporary artist Erik had even heard of; and she considered herself a very avid intersectional feminist.

Although her interests didn't intersect with Charles' at all, the way that she approached life with an enthusiasm and power of conviction was so reminiscent of Charles that Erik felt himself growing unexpectedly attached to this girl. 

In fact, everything was going so swimmingly that Erik didn't even hesitate when she asked him to lean in, which made it all the more shocking when she placed her pink, glossy, 18 year-old lips on his.

"RAVEN!"

Erik flinched away at the sudden shout, before the reality of the situation actually hit him and he stood up, suddenly, trying to put as much distance between himself and Raven as possible.

Charles practically ran from the cafeteria doorway to the booth where Erik had been sitting and Raven still was.

"Charles," Erik said, hastily.  "I'm so sorry.  I don't even know what happened.  I swear, I have no intentions-"

"Erik, shut up," Charles said, flatly, and Erik did.  "Raven.  What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Raven didn't reply and merely stared at Charles, unperturbed, like a scientist inspecting her guinea pig for traces of abnormal behaviour.

"Erik," Charles said, wearily.  "Would you please excuse us for a second?"

Erik nodded.

Charles then took a step forward and practically yanked Raven by the arm out of the booth, and marched her over to the other side of the cafeteria, by the vending machines.

Erik stood awkwardly by the window, waiting for it all to be over.  As he waited, he overheard some parts of the Xavier siblings' conversation, which mostly consisted of Charles hissing things like "just because you're 18 now", "your weird jealousy problems" and "for fuck's sake, Raven, he's gay".

After a few minutes, Charles and Raven came back to the booth, where Erik tried to look like he hadn't just been gazing out the window and straining his ears to hear what was going on.

There was an awkward moment when all three people just stared at each other, before Charles literally elbowed his sister in the ribs.

"Ow!" Raven exclaimed.  "Alright!  I'm sorry, Erik.  I promise to never try to kiss you again."

"Thanks," Erik said.  "And I'm sorry, Charles, for failing to adequately look after your little sister."

"Okay," Charles said, with a little sigh.  "I think Erik's had enough Family Day for now.  Let's go see Hank, shall we?"

And the Xavier siblings departed, leaving Erik with a lot of very confusing feelings swimming around his gut.

 

[11:34am] Unknown number: i was right.

[11:34am] Erik: Who is this?

[11:35am] Unknown number: raven.  i was right.  charles really does like you.

[11:36am] Erik: How did you get my number?

[11:36am] Erik: And what do you mean

[11:37am] Unknown number: i have hit on every person charles has ever had a crush on and he has Never reacted like that before ,,,he Likes u

_Erik: Read at 11:37am √_

 

 

 

 

 


	7. FOUNDATION-LEVEL GRIEF COUNSELING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: off-screen character death, drug addiction relapse

 

 

 

 

 

The rest of the week, Erik couldn't get Raven's text out of his mind.  He had always assumed that Charles was straight, which was unusual for Erik, seeing as he had the unfortunate habit of assuming attractive guys were also into guys.  Maybe it was Alex Summers' comment from the first day they had all met, when he'd called Charles a lesbian.  However, perhaps Alex wasn't the most reputable source of information, seeing as the kid had also said Charles had been "five foot".  Erik had spent enough time around the shorter man to know that Charles was a very indignant five foot seven _at least, thank you very much._

Erik was still pondering whether he should make a move on Charles or not the next Monday as he drove into school for his calculus final, while Charles slept in, as all his finals had happened the week before and he didn't have class until the early afternoon.

Maybe over the holidays, Erik thought.  He was planning on driving down to Philadelphia where his mom lived for the New Year (unfortunately, Hanukah clashed with basically all of his finals, thanks a lot, Dean Howlett).  If he could convince Charles to come with him, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for them to spend some quality time together, and also for Charles to meet Erik's mom.  Erik smiled at the thought.  Yes, he was certain that his mom was going to _adore_ Charles.

After Erik's calculus final, which had been almost embarrassingly easy, he took out his phone to text Charles and ask him if he wanted to meet up at school for lunch before German that afternoon.

However, the moment that Erik turned on his phone, there was a message on the lock screen that said:

 

[9:41am]  Raven Xavier: head's up. charles' mom just died.

 

Erik didn't even bother unlocking his phone.  Instead, he sprinted through the corridor, knocking over some teenagers as he went, and headed straight for the parking lot.

The drive home took about half the time than it normally did.

When Erik had finally reached the apartment door, he took a few seconds to breathe in and out so that he wouldn't freak Charles out by how much he'd exerted himself to get back here quickly.  Then, he unlocked the door.

The living room was empty and Charles' bedroom door was closed.  Erik briefly considered the fact that Charles might not even be awake yet, before knocking gently on the door.

No reply.

Erik pressed an ear up to the door and heard the vaguest sound of recorded voices, like the radio was on.

"Charles?" he said.  "I'm coming in, alright?"

Erik turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, which was weirdly difficult, until he realised that there was a rolled up towel in the way, which he picked up and tossed into the corridor.

The first thing that Erik noticed was that Charles' bedroom window was open, despite it being December, and it was really fucking cold.

The second thing that Erik noticed was Charles, lying on the floor with a half-empty bottle of gin by his head, clutching a small orange bottle in his hand.

"Charles?"

Charles opened his eyes and looked up at Erik with a bleary expression.

"Oh," he said, rather dazedly.

This was when Erik noticed the pale sheen of sweat across Charles' forehead and the quick shallow breaths that Charles seemed to be taking.

Shit.

"Charles," Erik said, firmly.  "I need you to give me the pills, and then get back into bed.  Can you do that for me, please?"

Charles stared at Erik, frowning slightly.

Erik glared back.

"I know you can understand me, Charles," he said, although he was still about 20% sure that Charles was too out of it at this point to process language.

Charles hesitated for a second, before holding up the bottle for Erik to take, which he did, noticing, with a breath of relief, that it was still heavy and rattling with pills.  Erik then walked over to the window and shut it, picked up the bottle of gin from the floor and left the room, feeling like there was something he should have been doing, a manual he should have been following.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Erik had just finished pouring the gin down the sink and was using his phone to Google "Oxycodone" and whether it was dangerous when interacting with alcohol when Charles shuffled into the kitchen.

"I'm so sorry," Charles mumbled, surprisingly coherently.

"It's alright," Erik replied, even though it wasn't.  "Are you feeling alright?"

"I sort of feel like I'm going to puke," Charles said, with uncharacteristic crassness.  "But don't worry: I barely ever actually puke unless I've been mixing Vicodin with alcohol so I think we should be fine."

"That's good to hear," Erik said, stiffly.

Charles walked a few steps closer to Erik and leant his forearms on the kitchen counter.

"You're angry with me," he said.

"I'm not," Erik replied.

"Bullshit," Charles said, with such cold casualness that Erik found himself flinching.  "You're angry with me; I can tell."

"Well, so what?" Erik asked.  "My feelings don't matter right now."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" Erik demanded.

"Don't forgive me and assume that I'm just some clueless junkie who has no control over what he's doing.  Don't pity me like that."

"Charles, I'm not-"

"I didn't have to do this," Charles interrupted, his voice rising slightly in pitch.  "Nothing was making me do this.  I didn't even _care_ that she died; I just wanted an excuse to fall off the wagon again."

Charles clenched his jaw and looked straight into Erik's eyes.

"Isn't that terrible?" he hissed.  "That I didn't even care that my own mother died?"

Erik swallowed.  He didn't know what he should say.  He didn't think there was anything he _could_ say at this moment.

Charles continued looking at Erik for a long moment and then pushed himself up from where he'd been leaning over the kitchen counter.

"I'm going to go do something really embarrassing and call my therapist," he said.  "And then I'll pack my stuff and head over to Hank's-"

"You're leaving?"

Charles chuckled humourlessly.

"I made you a promise, Erik," he said.  "I'm not going to give myself the opportunity to betray your trust again."

And then he turned and walked back to his room and shut the door.

Erik stared at the bedroom door for a few seconds, before climbing onto the kitchen counter and retrieving the packet of cigarettes he had stashed on top of the cupboards.  He jumped down, threw on a coat, and went outside.  He walked around the block for as long as it took to smoke four stale cigarettes in quick succession and, when he'd given up on self-pity, he returned to the apartment to find that Charles was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. A BEGINNER'S GUIDE TO ENDINGS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: gender dysphoria

 

 

 

 

 

Erik seriously considered staying in bed for the rest of the day, skipping German 101, and never talking to another human being ever again, but he decided against this course of action in the vague hope that Charles would talk to him before or after class and he could sort out the horrible hollowness that Charles' departure had carved out from Erik's gut.

Unfortunately, Charles did not come to German that afternoon, so Erik had to settle for interrogating Hank.

"Is Charles okay?" Erik asked Hank, the moment that Kurt had announced that they would be doing 'partner work' for the rest of the lesson.

"I should be asking you the same question," Hank retorted, defensively.  "What did you do to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"He came to my house with a cardboard box of clothes and toiletries without any fucking shoes on and asked if he could sleep on the floor of my room for the rest of the week," Hank explained, angrily.  "What did you do to him?"

Erik faltered.

"Charles' mom just died," he said.

Hank narrowed his eyes.

"Did he relapse?" he asked.

Erik nodded.

"And you kicked him out?" Hank demanded.

"No, no, no," Erik said, quickly.  "He left.  I didn't want him to go.  I... I want him to come back."

Hank pursed his lips, inspecting Erik through his glasses like the psychology major that he was.

"Wait two days," Hank said, finally.  "Let him cool down and get some perspective.  Then you can try and win him back."

Erik didn't know why he was trusting relationship advice from a 19 year-old, who had been seen wearing separate-toed shoes, but Hank was probably the most functional person that Erik knew, so he was willing to take the risk.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

On Wednesday morning, he texted Charles.

 

[10:03am] Erik: Meet me by the chessboards at noon today.  We need to talk.

_Charles: Read at 10:05am √_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Erik arrived at the chessboard picnic benches on the quad with a tall mocha in hand, Charles was already there, sitting at a bench and clutching a paper cup in his fingerless-gloved hands.

"Hello, Charles," Erik greeted, sitting down across from his friend.

"Hello, Erik."

"Please come back," Erik said, cutting right to the chase.

Charles smiled gently at Erik's bluntness.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said.

"I disagree," Erik replied.  "Also, I miss you."

Charles looked down at his cup.

"I couldn't make you go through... that again," he mumbled.  "I couldn't do that to you."

Erik bit the inside of his cheek.

"I'm not saying that Monday wasn't hard," he said, slowly.  "And I hope it doesn't happen again.  But I think it would be foolish to let one mistake end the arrangement we had."

"One mistake?" Charles repeated.  " _One_ mistake?  Do you really think it's just going to stop at _one bloody mistake_?"

Erik felt his stomach drop.

"Do you know what this is, Erik?" Charles continued, raising his voice now.  "Do you really know what it is that I do?  I get smashed off cheap gin and swallow a bunch of prescription painkillers for fucking breakfast.  I've lied to at least eight doctors about pain and illnesses I don't have.  My first year of college, I stole a prescription pad from Cambridge Hospital.  This is just what I fucking do."

 Erik still didn't reply.

"This is who I _am_ , Erik," Charles shouted.  "Stop telling me that you're okay with it because you sure as fuck shouldn't be!"

Erik waited patiently as Charles took a deep breath.

"Well," Erik said, quietly.  "I don't think that's the whole truth, is it?  That isn't who you are, at least not right now.  Maybe, that used to be something you did regularly, but you hadn't done it for a while before Monday and I'm assuming you're not doing it again at Hank's.  Maybe that's who you _were_ and maybe you want to change it but, Charles, the thing is... You already have.  You have changed, Charles.  You got through rehab and you started your transition and you even got kicked out of your parents' house and you've only slipped up once, and in my opinion that makes you fucking amazing."

Charles stared at Erik, his eyes glistening.

"I'm not though," he whispered, his voice breaking.  "I'm not amazing.  I'm not anything."

Erik bit his lip.

"Charles, do you remember a few weeks ago when I accused you of shooting up in our bathroom and then I felt like shit and you told me I was being too hard on myself?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Charles, just shut up and listen for a second."

Charles closed his mouth.

Erik took a deep breath.

"What I'm trying to say is... You're a fucking hypocrite.  You forgive everyone who's ever fucked you over: Raven, Harvard, me, your mother - but you never forgive yourself."

"But-"

"No, Charles," Erik interrupted.  "What makes you think you're so fucking special that you can hold yourself up to an impossible standard that you would never expect of anyone else?"

"I-"

"Now I'm not expecting you to say anything to that, or any of it.  I just want you to come home because I miss having you around in the apartment and I really want to spend New Year's with you.  So are you coming home or what?"

Charles' lip trembled, before it was pulled into a small, twitchy smile.

"I'm coming home."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Driving back to the apartment from school with Charles in the passenger seat was such a familiar set-up, but something felt different this time, like the air had become drier, more static in the last few days.

"Did you mean it?" Charles asked suddenly.

Erik glanced over at Charles, who was looking directly forward at the red traffic light in front of them.

"Mean what?" Erik asked.

"When you said-"

Charles stopped.  Then,

"When you said I was fucking amazing.  Did you really mean it, or was it just part of your lawyerly argument to persuade me back to the flat?"

Erik stared at Charles' profile, mapping the curve of his nose, the freckles on his cheeks.

"I meant it," he said quietly.  "I meant it, and more."

Charles blushed, and his light freckles faded slightly into the pink of his face.

The light turned green, but Erik only noticed when the car behind him honked, forcing him back into reality.

"Erik?" Charles said, after a few minutes of silence, when Erik was pulling into their typical parking space a few yards from the apartment.

"Yes, Charles?" Erik asked, checking the rear view mirror.

"I think you're fucking amazing too."

Erik reversed quickly into the spot and turned off the engine.

"Listen," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and looking at Charles.  "Just because I made some grand gesture in the name of friendship today, it doesn't mean you have to-"

"I know," said Charles quickly, also unbuckling his seatbelt.  "But I do think you're fucking amazing."

"Thank you," said Erik.

"You're welcome," said Charles.

Neither of them made any move to open their doors, or even break the eye contact that was probably lasting almost a minute now. 

Not that Erik had that tight a grasp on the concept of time right now, when his face was mere inches away from Charles' face.

"Charles?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"Weeks ago, on Family Day, Raven said that you had a crush on me."

"Did she?" Charles asked, his tone light, but unable to conceal the light blush rising from beneath his collar.

"Yeah," Erik replied.

"And do you really trust what _Raven_ has to say about me?" Charles asked, his breath growing shallow.

"I think I might be willing to take a chance," Erik whispered hoarsely, as he leaned forward.

Erik felt Charles' breath gently tickle the sensitive skin between his nose and his mouth before he suddenly couldn't bear it any longer and, with one swift movement, brought his right hand to the back of Charles' neck and his lips to Charles' in a clumsy collision of soft intentions and fierce passion.   

For a terrifying moment, Charles did not respond and Erik instinctively pulled away, before he felt a hand grab the front of his shirt and drag him back into the kiss.  As Charles started to push further into Erik's mouth, Erik slid his hand from Charles' neck up to his hair and gently pulled, eliciting a soft moan from Charles. 

Interesting.

But before Erik could put this new piece of information to good use, Charles was already wrapping his hands around Erik's waist and attempting to tug Erik's shirt from where it had been tucked into his pants.  At the first sensation of Charles' cold fingers on Erik's bare waist, Erik hissed into Charles' mouth, which caused Charles to chuckle and their noses to bump.

"Maybe we can, uh, try moving this to the, uh, bedroom?" he panted, while Charles started to plant a string of kisses from Erik's mouth down to his collarbones.

Charles froze mid-kiss.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea"

"Oh," said Erik, trying not to sound disappointed.  "Well, whenever you're ready."

"I'm sorry," said Charles.  "I just don't know if I can handle anyone seeing me, even you."

"That's totally fine," Erik said.  "We're in no hurry."

"Oh really?" said Charles with a cocky grin, glancing down at Erik's now very tight crotch area.

"Really," Erik said, trying to ignore the fact that Charles Xavier was staring at his obvious erection.  "We won't do anything you're not comfortable with."

Charles seemed to mull this over for a second.

"Erik?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind..." Charles started.  "I mean.  Would you like me to blow you?"

Erik's brain felt like it had just hit an electric fly killer.

"Uh," he said, finding it difficult to concentrate on language.  "Like, right now?"

Charles chuckled, and the sound went straight to Erik's dick.

"Well, I was probably going to say in like two minutes when we're not technically in public anymore."

"Oh," Erik replied.  "But don't you also want to... I mean..."

Charles shrugged.

"It doesn't seem fair," Erik said, rather lamely.

Charles laughed.

"Okay," he said.  "Let me put it another way."

He leaned in, placed his lips an inch away from Erik's ear and whispered:

"there is nothing that would give me greater pleasure at this moment than to put my lips around your cock."

Holy shit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In what seemed to Erik an embarrassingly short amount of time later, Erik and Charles were lying back on Erik's bed, panting and utterly wrecked, Erik completely naked and Charles fully clothed.  Charles' lips had achieved an impossible shade of red and there was a small speck of come on his chin that Erik didn't want to point out quite yet.

"Charles, are you sure-"

"Yes, Erik," Charles replied, firmly. 

"I just-"

"God, Erik," Charles said, with an amused smile.  "I've never heard so many complaints about my free blow jobs before."

Erik flushed, and he could see Charles' eyes trace the colour from his face all the way down to his bare chest.

He couldn't deny there was something extremely hot about being so exposed to someone who was still wearing a fucking cardigan over a collared shirt.

"But you'd tell me, right?" Erik asked, earnestly.  "You'd tell me if there was anything you wanted me to do."

"Of course," Charles replied, with a sniff whose indignant effect was somewhat lost by the fact that Erik had just noticed another speck of come in Charles' hair.  "Just give me a few months, maybe."

Erik's eyes bulged.

"Months?" he repeated.

Charles bit his lip.

"I mean," he stammered.  "Obviously, that's if we even last that lo-"

"We will," Erik said, definitively.  "I'm not going anywhere."

Charles blinked.

"Good," he said, with a soft smile.  "I'm not either."

"I was just surprised," Erik said.  "And a little bit worried about you.  You know we don't ever have to do anything if you're not 100% onboard with it."

"Yes, I know," Charles said, patiently.  "I'm just at a point in my life where I won't even look at myself in the mirror, so I don't know if I'd be able to handle anyone else looking at me."

Erik's mouth went dry and for a moment he had that swooping sensation that he often felt right before falling asleep: that he was about to drop off the edge of a very high cliff.

"Charles," he said, hoarsely.  "I think I love you."

Charles froze.

Then, to Erik's horror, he started laughing.

"Oh, Erik," he said, through the chuckles.  "You have the most surprising way of reacting to things I say."

Miffed, Erik said, "I do though.  I love you and I don't want you to ever feel bad about yourself because you are an incredible individual and the weirdest person I know and I am both shocked and grateful to have you in my life and in my bed."

Charles made a cough that might have been concealing a sob, but Erik wasn't quite sure because his vision had suddenly become a bit blurry.

"Erik," he said, softly.  "I-"

"Not that I want to pressure you or anything!" Erik added hastily.  "Obviously, I don't think you should feel bad about yourself but that shouldn't stop you from feeling bad about yourself if that's something you need to do right now."

Charles laughed, wetly.

"Thank you for that," he said.  "But I was actually going to say that I love you too."

Oh.

"Oh," said Erik.  "That's good to know."

Charles' mouth twitched.

"Do you want to order in something for dinner?" he asked.

"Sure," said Erik.  "I'm, uh, going to go put some clothes on."

"Okay," said Charles, picking up his cell phone from Erik's bedside table.  "You go do that."

Erik stumbled out of bed to his chest of drawers, pulling out the first items of clothing he found, before moving to the bathroom to wash up. 

 

He walked over to the sink to inspect the dark red love bites that Charles had left around his neck.   The largest one was placed just above his left collarbone and was blooming a lovely speckled maroon.  Erik placed a finger on the mark and pressed, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected pain.

Love bites were weird, Erik decided.  And he liked them a lot.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you think !!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> [and hmu at my tumblr (transcharlesxavier.tumblr.com) ](http://www.transcharlesxavier.tumblr.com/)


End file.
